He moved a finger slowly down toward her eye. She closed the lid and a moment later felt increasing pain as he pressed hard on her eyeball.
"No!"
His fingers lifted off her face. "There's a lot we could do to you." His hand massaged the back of her neck. "We could make you a vegetable." He touched her breasts. "Or a boy." Between her legs. "Or ..."
He released her hair so quickly that she screamed. Emily looked on without emotion.
Rune caught her breath. "Please let me go. I won't say anything."
"It's demeaning to beg," Emily said.
"I'll give you the million dollars," she said.
"What million?" Haarte asked. "From that old movie? That's bullshit."
"Oh," Emily said, laughing, "your secret treasure?"
"I will. I found it!"
Haarte asked cynically, "You did?"
"Sure. Where do you think I've been for the past twenty-four hours? After what happened in Brooklyn, you think I'm going to hang around town? Why didn't I just leave yesterday as soon as you killed Spinello? I didn't leave because I had a lead to the money."
Haarte considered this. Rune thought he was genuinely intrigued. Rune, hands together, was kneading her one remaining silver bracelet. "It's true, I promise."
He shook his head. "No, doesn't make sense."
"Mr. Kelly did have the money. I found it. It's in a locker at the bus station."
"That sounds like a scene out of a movie," Emily said slowly.
"Whatever it sounds like, it's true."
They were both sort of believing her now. Rune could tell.
Rune fiddled with the bracelet again. "A million dollars!"
Haarte said to Emily, "It's old money. How hard to move?"
"Not that hard," she said. "They're always finding old bills. Banks have to take 'em. And the good news is even if they took the serial numbers years ago, nobody's gonna have the records anymore."
"You know anybody who could take 'em?"
"A couple guys. We could probably get seventy, eighty points on the dollar."
But then Haarte shook his head again. "No, it's crazy."
"A million dollars," Rune repeated. "Aren't you getting tired of killing people for a living?"
There was a pause. Haarte and Emily avoided each other's eyes.
The room was sepia, gloomy, lit by two dim lamps. Rune looked out the window. Outside, it was very dark, with only that one cold streetlight nearby. She played nervously with her bracelet, squeezing it.
Haarte and Emily whispered to each other, their heads down. Emily finally nodded and looked up. "Okay, here's the deal. You give us the names of everyone you've told about me and hand over the money, we'll let you live. You don't tell us, I'll let Haarte here take you downstairs and do whatever he wants."
Rune thought for a moment. "What will you do with them? Whoever I told?"
Haarte said, "Nothing. As long as there are no police after us. But if there are then we might have to hurt them."
Rune squeezed the bracelet again several times. Hard. It snapped in half.
She looked up. "You're lying."
"Honey--" Emily began.
That's the trick to lying. Make the person you're lying to your partner in the lie.
"But that's all right," Rune said matter-of-factly. "Because I was too." And leapt out of the chair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emily laughed.
Because Rune might have run toward the front door of the town house or the rear. Or tried for a window. But she didn't do either. Instead, she rolled toward a small door in the living room.
"Rune," Emily said patiently, "what do you think you're doing? That's a closet."
And a locked one, at that, Rune learned, tugging on the glass knob.
Haarte looked at Emily. He shook his head at Rune's stupidity. There was no way out. She'd boxed herself in. Rune glanced back at them and saw with relief that they didn't have a clue what she really had in mind.
Until Rune jumped for the electric outlet she'd had her eye on for five minutes.
"No!" Emily shouted to Haarte. "She's going to--"
Rune pushed the two ends of the broken bracelet into the socket.
This bracelet, mon, she be important in your life, very important. Don't be too fast to give her away....
There was a fierce white flash and a loud crack. Pure stinging fire poured through her thumb and finger. The lights throughout the town house went out as the fuse popped from the short circuit. She smelled the scorched-meat scent of the burn on her finger and thumb.
Instantly, ignoring the pain, she was on her feet and running. Emily and Haarte, blinded by the flash, were groping toward the doorway. Rune, who'd had her eyes closed when the spark arced, was already thirty feet ahead of them, running cautiously, crouched, toward the front door, her useless right arm cradled in her left hand.
She missed the two steps down, from the hallway to the entry foyer, and fell heavily forward. Her right arm shot out in front of her instinctively, and she felt the searing pain as the burned hand broke her fall. She couldn't stop the grunt of pain.
"There--she's over there," Emily called. "I'll get her."
Rune climbed to her feet, hearing the woman's high heels clattering after her. She couldn't see Haarte anywhere. Maybe he was down in the basement, changing the fuse.
Rune leapt toward the front door, chilled by panic from the thought of Emily, undoubtedly armed, moving close behind her.
She reached for the top latch on the door. Then stopped, stepped slowly, stepped back against the wall. No! Christ no!
There was a man outside. She couldn't see clearly through the lacy curtains but she knew it had to be Pretty Boy. Haarte's and Emily's partner. The halo of curly hair caught pale light from the street. He seemed to be looking in the window, wondering why the lights had gone off inside.
Rune turned and started toward the back of the house.
Slowly, listening for Emily's heels and Haarte's footsteps.
But there was no sound at all. Had they fled? Rune turned the corner and froze. There, only four or five feet away, was Emily, who inched forward, feeling her way along the wall, holding a gun. She'd kicked off her shoes, was silently barefoot.
Rune pressed against the wall. The woman's head turned, squinting into the gloom. Probably hearing Rune's shallow breathing. She had a vague image of the woman's silhouette lifting the gun. Pointing it toward Rune.
She'll hear my heart beating! She has to hear that.
And that it may please thee to preserve all who are in danger by reason of their labor.
The silenced gun fired with a loud clicking pop. There was a fierce slap as the bullet hit the plaster a foot away from Rune's head.
We beseech thee to hear us, good Lord.
Another shot, closer.
Rune struggled with all her will to remain silent.
Emily turned toward the front door. Rune's groping fingers grabbed the closest thing she could find--a heavy vase on a pedestal. She raised it and flung it hard toward the woman. It was a solid hit. Emily cried out in a high wail and fell to her knees. The gun disappeared into the shadows. The vase thudded, unbroken, onto the parquet.
"I can't find the fuses!" Haarte's voice shouted from very near. "Where the hell is she?"
"Help me!" Emily called.
Haarte walked forward. "I can't see a fucking thing."
Rune dodged out of his way.
"There!" Emily called. "Beside you!"
"What--" Haarte began, and Rune sprinted down the hallway, heading toward where the back door should be.
Yes! There it was. She could see it. And it didn't look like anybody was outside.
She heard Haarte's voice in the front of the house, calling to Emily.
And Rune knew then that it was going to be all right; she could escape. They were nowhere near her and Rune had to spring only twenty feet or so to get to the back door. She slammed the hallway door shut, wedged a c
hair under the knob, and kept running.
Haarte got to the door in a few seconds and tried to open it but it was tightly blocked.
Rune could see dim light coming through the lace curtains on the back door.
Nothing could stop her now. She'd get outside, into the alley, run like hell. Call 911 from the first phone she found.
Haarte slammed into the door and pushed it open slightly, but the chair still held.
Fifteen feet. Ten.
Another slam.
"Go around, through the kitchen," Haarte called to Emily.
But their voices were a world away. Rune was at the door. She was safe.
She undid the chain. Turned the latch and then the knob. She swung the door wide and stepped out onto the back porch.
And stopped cold.
Oh, no ...
No more than two feet away from her was Pretty Boy. He was startled but not so startled he didn't lift his pistol like a quick-draw gunslinger and point it directly at her face.
No, no, no ...
She leaned back against the doorjamb. Tears streaming down her face. Arms limp, shaking her head. Oh, no ... It's over. It's over.
But then something odd happened, the sort of thing that happened in the Side, in the magic realm. Rune seemed to go out of her body. She felt as if she died and rose away into the air. Actually wondering--did he shoot me? Am I dead?
Floating away. Completely numb. Sailing up into the air.
And from there, from a cloud hovering over the Side, she looked down and saw: Pretty Boy putting his arm around her and leading her away from the open back door of the town house, handing her off to another man behind him, a man in a blue jacket that said U.S. MARSHAL on the back, and from there to another man wearing what looked like a bulletproof vest printed with the letters "NYPD." Passed along again until finally at the end of the line was Detective Manelli, with his close-together eyes, with his funny first name.
Virgil Manelli.
The detective held a finger to his lips to keep Rune quiet, then led her away from the house. She looked back at the line of men clustered around the door. Big men with stony faces, wearing suits of thick blue armor and carrying stubby machine guns.
On the sidewalk, Manelli handed her off one last time--to two medics, who put her on a cot and began hovering over her, pouring ice water on her burnt hand and then wrapping it with bandages.
Rune paid no attention. She kept her eyes on the men around the back door. Then Pretty Boy said into a microphone on his collar, "Subject is clear. Move in, move in, move in!"
Everyone on the stairs, all the knights, charged into the building, shouting, "Police, police, federal agents ..." Flashlights illuminated the interior of the town house.
Rune heard a funny sound. Laughter. She looked at the attendant. But he wasn't laughing. His partner wasn't either. She realized that the sound was coming from her.
Delicately, one of the medics asked, "What's so funny?"
But she didn't answer. Because from inside the town house came the sound of gunshots. Then calls of "Medic, medic!"
And the men in the ambulance left her while they ran toward the back door with their bags in hand, their stethoscopes flapping around their necks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
She huddled away from him. From Pretty Boy.
"I want to see something. Some identification."
They were sitting in the back of a new-smelling Ford. Government issue. Manelli stood outside.
The NYPD detective rubbed his mustache and said, "He's legit."
"I want to see something!" Rune snapped.
Pretty Boy offered her his badge and an ID card.
She looked at the card three times before she actually read everything. His name was Salvatore Pistone.
"Call me Sal. Everybody does."
"You're, like, an FBI agent."
"You just insulted me. I'm a U.S. marshal." He was smiling. But his eyes were oddly cold.
"That's what Haarte said."
"Yeah, I found his fake badge and ID. He's used that identity before. Frosts me how often people don't fucking bother to read ID cards. You had, you woulda seen his was fake."
The medic stopped by the car. "Soak that hand in Betadine solution tonight before you go to bed. Tomorrow see your doctor. You know what Betadine is?"
She had no idea. She nodded yes.
Then, to Manelli, the man said, "Guy's dead."
Sal scoffed. "I shot him three times in the head. What the fuck else would he be?"
"Yeah, well. It's confirmed."
"Who?" Rune asked. "Haarte?"
Sal said, "Yeah. Haarte."
"The woman, she'll be okay?" Manelli asked.
"Hell of a bruise on her back. Don't have a clue how she got that--"
Rune remembered the vase. Wish she'd aimed for Emily's head.
"--but aside from that she'll be fine. The bitch'll definitely see the inside of a courtroom."
Manelli straightened up. "All right, miss, I'm handing you over to the feds. It's their case now. You shoulda listened to me and stayed out--"
"I--"
He held up a finger to his lips, shushing her again. "You shoulda listened." He walked off to his own car. He glanced at her with his close-together eyes but they were expressionless. He got inside, started the engine, and drove off.
Other cars were leaving. More of the nondescript sedans, some city blue-and-white police cars. And the small Emergency Service Unit trucks. The ESU men and women, like soldiers after a battle, were taking off their vests and loading the guns back into their car trunks or the compartments of the trucks.
"Who was he?"
"Samuel Haarte," Sal replied. "Professional hit man."
"I'm so confused."
She watched Sal's face. She decided there was something a little crazy about him. Indoctrinated. Like with the Moonies. She had this love/hate thing with Detective Manelli but she liked him. Sal scared her.
"She killed Victor Symington," Rune told him. "Emily did."
"So she was going by the name Emily. Any last name?"
"Richter."
"Haarte usually worked with somebody named Zane. I always thought it was a guy. But it must be her. One fucking tough woman."
Sal dug around in the back of the car, found a thermos, and sat back. He poured some coffee into the lid and offered it to her. "Black. Sweet." She took it and sipped the coffee. It was so strong it made her shiver.
Sal drank directly from the thermos. "Symington--I mean Spinello--he'd be alive if he hadn't panicked. He shouldn't've took off."
"What happened?" Rune asked.
He explained. "I'm with the Witness Protection Program. You know, giving federal witnesses new identities. Spinello and another witness--"
"That guy in St. Louis I read about?"
"Right. Arnold Gittleman. Spinello and Gittleman testified against some syndicate guys in the Midwest."
"But if they already testified, why kill them?"
Sal laughed coldly at her naivete. "It's called revenge, sweetheart. To send the message that nobody else better talk. Anyway, Spinello took off--he didn't trust us to keep his ass safe and moved down to the Village on his own. Never told his handler about it. I was part of the team in the hotel in St. Louis guarding Gittleman." His cold eyes grew sad for a splinter of a second. Not an emotion he was used to, it seemed. "I went out to get some sandwiches and beer and those assholes got Gittleman and my partners."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged off the sympathy. "So I went undercover to nail the pricks." Sal looked at the house. "And we sure as shit did. Looks like they were the only ones too. We waited as long as we could here in case somebody else showed up. But nobody did."
"What do you mean, you waited as long as you could?"
He shrugged. "We've been cooling our heels outside here for five fucking hours."
"Five hours!" she shouted. Then it became clear. "I led you here! I was bait."
Sal considered this. "Basically. Yeah."
"You son of a bitch! How long've you been following me?"
"You know that old blue van in front of your loft? With all the tickets?"
"That was yours?" she asked, dumbfounded.
"Sure."
"What'd you come up in my loft for? Earlier today?"
He frowned. "Actually, at that point, we figured you were dead. I was checking it out to see if your body was up there."
"Jesus Maria ..." She nodded to the door. Ripped into him with a sarcastic "I hope when I escaped just now I didn't totally screw up your plans."
"Naw," Sal said, sipping more coffee. "It was good it worked out the way it did. They might've used you as a hostage. It was--whatta you say?--convenient you got away when you did."
"Convenient?" Rune spat. "You used me. Just like Emily did. You followed me to Brooklyn to find out where Symington was. And you followed me here to catch them!"
Now Sal grew angry too. "Listen. For a week, I thought you might've been one of the hit team. Think about it. We have a city police report that you were on the scene just after the Kelly killing. Then, when I'm staking out the site of the hit--that tenement on Tenth Street--you go in. Then Spinello runs outside and vanishes, like you scared the crap out of him. And then we had more reports that somebody who fits your description,--except is about nine months pregnant--has broken into Kelly's apartment and ransacked the hell out of it."
"That wasn't me," Rune protested. "It was them."
"But you did break in."
"The door was practically open."
"Hey, I'm not after any B and E count. I'm just telling you why I didn't walk up to you and introduce myself. Shit. And when we figured out you were an innocent and I tried talking to you, your friend the redhead just about breaks my nose and some fucking bodybuilder closes my throat up."
"How were we supposed to know?"
"Anyway, yeah, they found your prints all over Spinello's safe house in Brooklyn. But we checked you out pretty good and you didn't seem like the sort that Haarte or Zane'd hire. I talked to Manelli about you and we decided you were pretty much who you seemed to be. Just a kid in over her head."
"I'm not a kid."
"Yeah, I wouldn't take points on that one. What the hell were you doing in this mess in the first place?"
Rune told him about Mr. Kelly and the money and the movie.
"A million dollars?" Sal laughed. "Gimme a break. Stick with lotto. Or numbers. Better odds, sweetheart." He nodded. "But, yeah, that's what Manelli was thinking--that Kelly's death was a mistake. Well, whatever ...That woman's going down. It's the prosecutor's game now. Good thing we've got a star witness."